


The Sun Rises

by queuingtrilobite (orphan_account)



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/queuingtrilobite
Summary: The Lord of Light gifted his followers with many paths; sometimes Alexios felt he’d traversed them all.
Relationships: Alexios Flavius Aquila/Hilarion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	The Sun Rises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verecunda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/gifts).

The sun caught him in the eyes, a long, levelling strake of brilliant light as he emerged from the mithraeum. It had been yet dark when he’d entered the sacred space to partake of the mysteries and the communal meal that followed. Alexios blinked twice to clear the dazzle, his head still full of the murmured chants that had rolled amongst the Believers. Incense clung to his clothes, a sweetness that sat in combination with the taste on his tongue of dried figs and roasted venison, of potent Gaulish wine.

He loitered by the entrance to the cavern, a man-made structure sited between the fort and the civilian settlement. His fellows exchanged goodbyes as they left, their breaths puffing clouds into the sharpened air. Alexios nodded, occasionally touching the mark of the Raven between his dark brows, and in time drew away to swing the familiar heavy warmth of his wolfskin cloak around his shoulders.

It was as much a reminder as it was a symbol of who he was. Alexios Flavius Aquila, commander of the First Attacotti, late of the Third Ordo of the Frontier Scouts. A sprig from a noble bough. A failure banished to the wilds of northern Britannia; a hero whose men had stood ready to declare him imperator. The Lord of Light gifted his followers with many paths; sometimes Alexios felt he’d traversed them all. Dutiful son, recalcitrant nephew, diplomat, best friend, executioner, murderer, saviour…

He made his way over grass sheathed in frost towards the settlement. On the outskirts was a temple, long since abandoned and left to ruin. Something in its shattered columns and rain-pocked masonry reminded him of the temple near Castellum. The weather in Gallia Belgica was better than that beyond the Northern Wall, of course—but only just. When the wind blew from the east, the old injury to his left arm ached. On each occasion he’d massage warm oil into the scar that writhed like a silver snake, but to no avail.

Some wounds were of the heart and soul, and the only balm was time itself.

Hooded crows cawed from their nests. Peewits tumbled against a span of blue sky, the undersides of their wings flashing white. Untidy balls of mistletoe hung from bare-branched trees. The Oak Priests had no power here, now. Some folk believed the berries were sacred to the old Thunder God; others gathered it for Saturnalia, while still others brought it into their homes because it was the way things had always been done, a habit borne down from ancient times.

There was no Dancing Floor at this fort. The cohort of the VIII Augusta with whom they served was too proud and precious of its distinguished heritage to cavort like heathen savages. Nonetheless, it had all been arranged. Tonight there’d be a bonfire to mark Midwinter. The songs would be different from the mouth-music sent up by the Frontier Wolves of Castellum, but tonight there’d be songs of lament and joy, rhythms from lands long-lost or remembered keenly.

Cold nipped at Alexios’s face. He increased his pace, wolfskin swinging, the ground crackling then softening beneath him. The temple steps rose before him, ivy clinging to limestone, a scattering of dead leaves that rustled as he passed. 

Hilarion lounged against a broken pillar, the sunlight sparking fire in his hair. With his head angled upward, his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other, he resembled Cautes, the torchbearer. Had Mithras’s companion ever smiled so at the Bull-Slayer? Alexios thought not; but his own smile quickened in response.

“I heard a rumour,” Hilarion said, his voice scarce more than a murmur. “One whispered of in the wine-shops and speculated upon at the port.”

Alexios settled himself against the column drums, standing shoulder to shoulder with his Centenarius. Wolf fur caught, pale grey and dark grey rubbing together.

“You should know better than to listen to idle gossip.” He let the words hang there, teasing, then asked, “And what does rumour tell you?”

“That the Frontier Wolves will soon be hunting across a new territory.” Hilarion turned to him, pale eyes glinting in an expression of open enquiry.

“Mm.” The non-committal sound was deliberate. Alexios looked across at the swathe of grass, at the trail of his footprints in the frost and the wide, rutted road to the fort. Thin streamers of smoke lifted from the barracks. Sentries stood on guard duty. The walls and corner-towers were in good order; the principia had glass in its windows and terracotta tiles on its roof. A world away from Castellum, but not far at all.

Hilarion took his wrist, exerting a gentle pressure. “Alexios.”

He didn’t pull away. Not these days.

“We have received orders,” he said, relenting, enjoying the lazy amusement in Hilarion’s eyes. “Next month we march to new quarters. To Illyricum. Thessalonica, to be exact.”

Hilarion’s mouth shaped his surprise. “So far.”

“It is the lot of the Roman Eagle to fly far and wide.” Alexios slid his wrist free, but only so he might tangle his fingers with Hilarion’s, warm between their wolfskins. “But the Frontier Wolves always run with their pack, and we are wolves even above our role as eagles.”

“You will not leave me behind.” It was not quite a question, nor was it a statement.

“I will not.” Those of higher standing might raise an eyebrow at the decision—again—of a Centenarius foregoing promotion to follow his Ducenarius, but not Alexios. Last time, he’d been glad of the offer of friendship. Now, it was much more.

Hilarion nodded without taking his head from the curve of the column. “Good,” he said, in that spare way he had.

Alexios squeezed his hand, and together they watched the midwinter sun rise higher into the heavens.


End file.
